Nineyearold's Mothers Day
by Roglol
Summary: The only thing Alice ever wanted was to be loved by her mother. He tries so hard, he really does, but it was just another typical blunder for Jasper. Set when each were nine years old.


**Summery**

The only thing Alice ever wanted was to be loved by her mother. He tries so hard, he really does, but it was just another typical blunder for Jasper.

**Characters involved  
**

Alice and Jasper

**Rating**

K+ (cause I really don't think it is T)

**Author's N****ote**

**In this story, ****the focus switches between Alice and Jasper. Ever time there is a Page break/line thing it switches perspective. I am very sorry if you get confused but I don't think it should be _that _hard to follow, right?**

**In this story, Alice and Jasper have (obviously) never met. They are both Nine-year-old's and human. It is before they even knew Vampires existed. You get the idea.  
**

**Nine-year-old's Mothers Day**

_She is a horrible child. No one, epically not me, deserves a child such as her -Alice's Mother  
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* * *

__He is wonderful. Perhaps a bit too set in going to war, but wonderful is still the only word to describe him.- Jasper's Mother  
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* * *

  
_

The only thing Alice ever wanted was the love of her mother. She wanted it more than she loved her sister, more than she hated being called the _Demon_ _from Mrs. Brandon,_ more than she hated being teased by the kids at school, and even more than she liked her beloved visions. She would gladly have given up her visions for her mother to love her. If only she had known how.

Alas, she did not know how, so the only thing she could do was be nice and perfect. The child anyone would want. But more than anything she had to remember to _never_ mention her visions.

* * *

He tried so hard, he really did. It never seemed to be enough though. He tried to beat the fastest kid in school in a race, so his mother will be proud. He almost made it, but, being nine-year-old Jasper, he trips with five feet to go, another typical blunder. He tried to whittle a stick for his father, making it as pretty as he can, but he had not yet mastered the 'picking of the stick', as his father calls it, and so it cracked in his hands, becoming useless. He has tried everything under the sun to impress his parents, to get them to be proud of him.

This is not to say that they were _not _proud of him, they were. The Whitlock's might have been the proudest parents in the century, but their son did not see himself as worthy. He has to _make_ them proud, he does not simply let them be proud because they have a wonderful son. So, because of his nature and to please, he picked a _very_ difficult thing to do for Mother's Day. He was determined to make his mother proud.

* * *

She woke up in the middle of the night. Not an unusual accurance in the Brandon household. The parent no longer came to comfort their little girl; they had not for a long time. Ever her beloved sister, who slept in the same room, no longer wakes. Alice sat there in silence. Why is whatever she does never enough? Other kids can be bullies, or fail at everything, and still their parents are proud and loving. Why does _she_ have to be perfect, an over achiever even, and still she does not get even a hug. It s not fair, and everyone knows it! Her vision disappointed her tonight. (For that is the only time they came, when she was sleeping and dreaming)

Tonight she only saw only a day in advanced.

It was Mother's Day and she was there, in the kitchen, with her mother. She had handed her mother the present she had labored over for months. It was beautiful, a masterpiece. She had skipped recess and had to endure the teasing of her peers, for more than a month, and for months before that she had been pondering what to make. She had used all her allowance on the tools and color and still had to steal some things and borrow some others from the school. The teachers had not helped; no, they won't even go near her anymore. Not since she had predicted little Tommy's death. She did not mind; she would rather work with out help, with out distractions, anyway.

As good as her sister was on piano, and she is quite good mind you, Alice was good with the creative side of things. Never having truly lived in the moment, more in the future, must have had something to do with it. Whatever the reason, her sculpture was beautiful. Her sister said so, her father said so, everyone said so. Her mother though. Well, her mother never _was_ one to go with the crowd.

* * *

Cooking. Why, oh why, did he have to choose _cooking_? Lord knows how many times he burned himself trying to start the fire, and then add the burns while he was removing and replacing the pots and pans. He even managed to burn himself when he was sitting waiting for the food to cook! His father tried to help, but, truthfully, his father was just as clueless about cooking as he was.

" Why couldn't you choose something more for boys?" He had said, "Like building her a chair, or, or _something!_ Building her something, whittling her something. Anything! We can't cook! It's women's work!"

"Then you can go build her something Father. But I don't think Mother should cook on a day dedicated to her. I want to finish what I started." He was determined if nothing else.

Finish what he started he did, or, at least, he _tried _to.

* * *

She knew the out come before it happened, though she never mentioned it. She stood in the kitchen, facing her mother. Her hand behind her back, not letting her mother see before it was time. Her sister went first, playing a wonderful piece on the piano, written just for their mother. It was beautiful; everyone said so. Just like they said Alice's masterpiece was. So how come Mother liked Cynthia's present but not hers?

'Not yet, I've been wrong before. The future is not set in stone.' She had to keep reminding her self.

But alas, just like most other times, her nightly vision had been correct. Her little nine-year-old hands came out from behind her. Her father beamed; proud of his daughter, no matter how unusual she was. Her sister squealed, having not seen the finished product, just the 'in progress' work. Her mother, she scowled. Just like Alice knew she would.

She had been wrong before, but never about something so close in the future.

Her mother hated it, simply because it had come from Alice. If Cynthia had created it, she would have been thrilled. But no, it had to be _Alice;_ who had created such a magnificent piece of art, _Alice; _who anyone would have loved if not for her visions, _Alice; _who her husband loved more than her. That little witch, the little Demon, the little…. She could go on forever, reasons that her daughter deserved to die, reasons she deserved to suffer, reasons she should not exist, why she should never be seen again, _why she should be sent away!_ The perfect plan, it would seem, would be to send her to an institution for crazy people, the _funny farm,_ if you will. Now if only she could convince her husband.

* * *

The day was almost over but the dinner was still not done. It had taken many, many tries and it was going to be ruined _again!_ He just could not get it right. When he cooked the chicken it was still raw. When he cooked the corn it almost burnt. (And some of it did!) What ever he cooked, it turned out wrong. Thankfully most of it was safe to try again, but on the things he burnt… Well, they had to toss most of it. There were almost no more vegetables left for their feast, and the ones that were still there had been burnt places. The meat was not cooked, and when it went in again it was almost overcooked. It seemed the only thing that went right was the cornbread.

Of course, everyone was happy with this arrangement. Most everyone in the _town _would have been fine with making a meal of this delicious cornbread, but, Jasper being Jasper, was unsatisfied with only getting one thing right.

His mother came in, directed by the smell of fresh bread, and looked at him. He was sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth, staring at the burnt, undercooked, and perfect food on the table. She walked to him and knelt down.

"What's wrong?" She asked, "The food looks great! I'm so proud that you did this all on your own."

"You know as well as I do that that is a lie Mom." He had no self confidence, "I burnt most of it, and my hands, and the only things that are not burnt are undercooked, and the only thing that came out okay was the cornbread, and that would be fine but it was suppose to be a feast for my favorite mom and I completely messed it up, and I'm really, really, really sorry cause I ruined everything and I wish I was better at it 'cause I'm really sorry."

Jasper tended to ramble when he was nervous. His mother just hugged him, and rocked him. Told him it was great and she was proud, but he knew it was a lie. It still made him feel better though. Odd, how that happens.

His mother called in Father and he told Jasper the same lies. It made him feel even better; eventually he almost started to believe them himself. When dinner was over, scraps of burnt food thrown to the hounds, Jasper went to his room. Sitting there, on his bed, he realized something.

The only thing he was good at was hunting, though he had only tried a couple of time. His parents would be proud if he became a soldier right? Well, that is what he would do. He would make his parents finally proud and become a soldier!

* * *

**Author's Note**

**I would love to hear you opinions. Anything you can think of to help make this better, my writing better, anything better. Anything you found that was wrong. A name, something that would never happen, ext. Even if it is your own honest opinion, like 'I would have said this here instead of that'. **

**OH and if you have nothing to say answer a question in you review (if you so choose to review) **

_**What**_** is your name? (Not your real name but any random name you want to put.)**

_**What**_** is you quest?**

_**What**_** is you favorite color?**

_**What **_**is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?**

_**What **_**is the movie that all these questions are from? (Except this one, of course)**

**If you get the last one right, I will love you forever. (OK, not really but you **_**will**_** have seen one of my favorite movies)**

**OH (again)! Happy Mothers Day!**


End file.
